


Tales As Old As Time

by CoffeeAndConjunctions



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sexual Tension, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:55:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7020982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeAndConjunctions/pseuds/CoffeeAndConjunctions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some love stories start traditional, boy meets girl--girl meets boy, love ensues. </p><p>But some stories, some stories don't follow rhyme or reason.</p><p>or </p><p>Tumblr fic dump for WinterShock, Captain Hill, Forsterson and HulkWidow</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Splash Mountain (WinterShock)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt Status: Accepting
> 
> Anon Asked For:
> 
> Darcy decides to take bucky to Disney world, but they end up getting soaked in one of the rides.
> 
> Darcy realizes he is very much sexy.

i. Splash Mountain

 

Prompt Status: Accepting

Anon Asked For:

Darcy decides to take bucky to Disney world, but they end up getting soaked in one of the rides.

Darcy realizes he is very much sexy.

  


Assholes. All of them.

Eying the crowd, trying to pick out her companions she keeps being jostled by the children and adults alike–look she knows that as a petite woman she was easy to lose, especially in Disney, but come on they were the Avengers. Where was the spacial awareness? The sharp sighted gaze of the assassins? Where was Jane and Thor’s loyalty?

Fuckers.

While pivoting on the tips of her toes to avoid being barreled into by an over zealous grandmother, grandchild pair Darcy spots an open bench seat. Making a beeline to the seat least someone else steal her prize she bobs and weaves through the crowd with an agility born of avoiding Lab techs carrying both hot coffee and corrosive chemicals (he favorite suede boots had met an untimely end because she had not been fast enough). Reaching the bench a sigh escapes her, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose, well that explained it, the bench was drenched with Blue Raspberry Slushie–still dripping onto the soaked ground beneath it. Taking out her cell phone she texts Natasha, the one most likely to notice the buzzing of a cellphone if not a missing person.

[Me: 12:34]: Where are you?

[Shelob: 12:34]: Splash Mountain.

Of course, Splash Mountain–duh Darcy.

Clint had only been whining about going to on that ride since they’d arrived. Steeling herself she types out the word slowly, glad that Natasha had replied and she had not needed to rely on Stark’s technology dependency to answer a message–or else swallowing her pride to ask for help would not even be a question. Stark never forgets, he simply files for later ridicule.

[Me: 12:37]: Lost, send National Guard. In front of Carousel.

[Shelob: 12:39]: Barnes is enroute.

Ah, crap.

 _RoboHobo_  was on his way, there was nothing she could do to weasel her way out of having him come–she had no valid reason other then him giving her the heebie jeebies to object to him coming and she’d let Stark look at her internet history before admitting that Captain America’s BFF would make her want to cross the street if she saw him heading her way.

But yeah, he totally would. 

It wasn’t anything he did, cause Barnes didn’t do much other then taking up massive amounts of space with his bulk, occasionally glare (okay, glare harder cause it was practically his default mode) at Tony’s running commentary and go out for runs with Steve at the ass crack of dawn when she was finally getting to bed having wrangled the Science Triad out of the Lab.

* * *

It’s only about ten minutes before she spots him, because unlike for her the crowds seem to part when Barnes steps near (and it’s not like he’s super tall or anything, just something about Barnes made you wanna get out of his way–could be the murder strut) cupping her hands over her mouth she lets out a yell of his name. Even over the dull roar of a crowded park he hears her (damn, okay kind of impressive), pulling his cap further down he approaches her. 

“Thanks, dude. I owe you.” 

Nodding in acknowledgment he gestures with his head for her to follow along (someone needed to teach Barnes about Big Boy words) so she does, sticking close to his side to make sure she fell under the zone of the wide berth people seemed to give him. Silently (a word which never seemed to want to associate with her before) they make their way towards the others. Natasha’s bright red hair is a beacon even beneath a baseball hat (where did these people find flattering and casual baseball caps? Like where they custom made like the uniforms?) detaching herself from Barnes’ side, making sure to give him a smile she hoped conveyed gratitude cause the least she could do was be polite she dashes over to Jane who is engrossed in conversation with Bruce. 

They had waited for her–so maybe they were total assholes–and with the fancy passes that let you skip the forward the majority of the group moves to the head of the line (Bruce and Barnes to no one’s surprise stay behind but Thor does as well making vague references to conductivity.) 

Seated beside Jane who was now talking to Pepper about gravitational phenomenons (Darcy really had to give credit to the Stark CEO, she really did look like she was listening–the only clue she had to the contrary was the way her eyes had glazed over a little) the brunette leans forward to talk to Nat. 

“I asked for the National Guard, not the K.G.B.” 

Sly smile on her face, the Widow shrugs one shoulder before popping a gum bubble at her.

“Don’t let Cap hear you say that, you know how he gets.”

”Yeah, yeah his inner Mother Hen comes to life.” 

Clint lets out a snort next to his fellow spy but doesn’t join the conversation, like a little kid he’s leaning over the log trying to touch the water. 

Clint is an idiot, but a lovable one. 

“I can hear you now.” 

An exasperated voice calls from behind them but neither of them turn to address the Super Soldier–in part because they know he is just trying to avoid talking to Tony who had chosen to sit next to him and was trying to bring him up to speed on different porn types. This had been going on since they arrived yesterday. 

“Tell him about G.I.L.F’s yet, Tony? Might be just his speed.”

“Excellent input, Lewis–remind me to double your Christmas bonus.” 

Tuning them out she turns back to face forward, just in time to see the immanent drop–a scream of joy builds in her throat and she unleashes it along with Jane who has taken hold of her hand on the decent. Soak down to her panties–she didn’t mind the Florida heat would take care of it soon–she exits the ride with a pleased smile which turns into laughter when she notes the state Barnes is in. 

His sweater–let that sink in for a second, this lunatic was wearing a sweater mid July in Florida–had hung on his frame heavy with water. Hair drench, sour look on his face it looked like someone had failed to mention to him that there was a safe distance to keep from Splash Mountain. Tucking his cap into his back pocket he reaches for the hem of his sweater, pulling it over his head in a swift move. 

Barnes was economic with movement she had noted once, half distracted by a level of angry birds she’d been playing on Tony’s private jet on the way down, so she knows the move isn’t meant to be sensual. Could be that’s why she nearly trips over her own feet when everything covering his torso comes off–biceps flex as he wrings out the shirt over the railing (the Mom sitting next at the bench near by is not being subtle about checking him out. It could be the whole metal arm thing but eh, she had her suspicions)–Darcy gets a front row few of those abs. 

Now she’s no stranger to great abs (i.e Thor) but everything about Barnes seems to suggest those muscles came from manual labor–from physical activity, not a project of vanity. His hips cut a deep ‘V’ shape over the top of his low slung jeans, sun kissed skin was wet, water drops trailing down his neck (not that she was–ah, screw it, she was looking) down his sternum, over abs until they pooled at the faint patch of hair leading down to things she had no business thinking about.

“Lady Darcy, are you unwell–your face has bloomed with color, is the sun too much?” 

Shit, Natasha was giving her a knowing look from over the top of her Ray Bans. Double shit, Barnes was looking their way now, he’d tilted as if evaluating her (oh god, that was cute) attention fully focused on her. 

Stammering out a reply she rolls along with the excuse he gives her, “Yeah, a little-–dark hair attracts the sun you know.” 

Thor accepts explanation, heading back to the group and there was a merciful God looking out for her even if belatedly because the other’s seemed to have missed it (expect for Barton and Romanov who saw everything–bastards) taking the bottom of her hair she works out some of the water from the heavy mane. A shadow engulfs her she looks up, blue eyes are looking into her own as he tugs the cap into place, seemingly satisfied he steps back and works his arms back into the (less) wet clothes he’d briefly shed. Once the sweater is back over his head  he gestures with his head like he’d done earlier, the party already moving on. 

“Keep up, Lewis.” 

Son of a bitch, Barnes was totally fuckable.

 

 


	2. Mission Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I need to get my shoes.”
> 
> A blank expression comes over his face, one of the three in his repertoire and here comes number one—mildly annoyed.
> 
> “You took of your shoes.”
> 
> “Duh, how else was I supposed to do get here?”
> 
> “In them.”
> 
> “Fuck you, Barnes—I almost died twice without doing that on stilts.” she hisses out in lieu of yelling.
> 
> 'Guys, two minutes.’
> 
> “Shit.”

> Anonymousasked: Hi! Love your writing :) I really like how you're keeping everyone true to character, especially Bucky. Anyways if you are still accepting prompts: Both Bucky and Darcy are doing reconnaissance for the team (Bucky because of his experience and Darcy because she's the least recognizable and likes to help where she can) and has to go to a party to follow their mark. What happens next is up to you :)

* * *

 

Go to a party, she says.

Mingling’s all you have to do, she says.

Barnes has got your back, she says.

Toes stretch forward in an attempt to cross the gap between the two balconies, they are painted lilac (of all the things to notice, this seemed the most trite) and were a match for the flowy dress she was trying to keep from tangling along her legs and sending her to a premature death. Feet find purchase, gathering up momentum she lunges for the rail of the balcony, grasping it firmly between chilled fingers—metal biting again her palm, she holds fast.

Swing her leg over the railing (it took two tries and about ten years off her life) she crouches down—snow is starting to stick to the ground which would make it hard to jump again but this window had no lights on. The third balcony from the room she’d started in just as instructed.

Two fingers to her ear she presses lightly against the commlink, it doesn’t make a sound when channel opens (she resists the urge to say hello to make sure its working, cause she’s better then that—most of the time).

“Barnes, I’m in position.”

He doesn’t reply (maybe he’s dead, maybe he’s been caught, maybe he’s fucking information out of the fake titty hussy from earlier) so she waits and stews.Natasha was to blame for this, all of it.

“Ow–”

It’s a half assed sound of pain (she was in so much pain it had become a hassle to display it) when her back smacked agains the ground for God know’s what time today. Clint is hovering over her, shit eating grin in place, offering a hand up. She has every intention of ignoring it but realizes the bigger hit to her pride would be failing to rise without it.

“Are you even trying anymore?”

“Listen—I’ll let you know when I can feel my ass again.” she retorts bring her fists up to the fighting position she had been taught (read: had beaten into her)

“Half of learning to defend yourself is working through the pain—how would you react against an uncontrolled situation if you don’t know the way pain makes you react.”

“I get it, Nat. I read Tolstoy—the Russians have a beauty in suffering shtick” using her hips to turn into the punch she’s blocked by Clint who just side steps it “And if suffering is beautiful then I’m Helen of Troy right now.”

“Concentrate, Lewis—show me I’m not wasting my time”

(She takes offense to that—what about her time? She’s tired, sore and she hadn’t been laid since Ian broke up with her six months ago—if not for this she could be out getting laid.)

With a cry of frustration she feigns a jab and drops down to a leg swipe that actually connects (hello bruised shins) and while it doesn’t topple Clint it does get him off balance enough to take a knee. He looks about as proud as she feels and they share a high five while Natasha looks on marginally please. 

Darcy is spared another round by Hill’s entrance and if she prayed to a God she’d be thanking them right about now, instead she settled for sending a sloppy salute toward the dark haired woman. The thing about Hill is that most people think she’s this no nonsense kinda woman (and don’t get her wrong, she totally fucking is) but none can be that way all the time—even Pepper takes days off. So Darcy was still trying to find the lighter side to Hill (the Maria if you will—ugh, her inner monologue is turning into Dr. Seuss again) thus far no success, but she was nothing if not stubborn.

“Debriefing room, ten minutes.”

She’s picturing a lovely little scene—her with her feet on the coffee table, pizza box opened next to her, no Clint to steal the remote or Steve to complain about the programming, it’s heaven. Then with three words Hill bring it crashing down around her like Helicarriers in Washington.

“You too, Lewis.”

“Crap biscuits.”

* * *

 

Wiggling her toes to stimulate a bit of blood flow to her extremities, wondering what the Stark compensation package for frost bite was, she nearly misses Barnes touching down beside her with a soundless, graceful parkour move. As it was she just bites down the urge to squeak out a noise of surprise, living in building with Clint was good training for resisting jump scares (he came out of the vents sometimes—the vents). 

Unfurling from his kneeling position Barnes signals her to wait before she follows, out of his pocket comes a set of lock picks—honest to God, lock picks.

‘Systems coming down in 3…2…1…Soldier you are go for entry.’

Natasha’s voice is the same pseudo-soothing pitch it always is, like she’s just come back from a good lay and Darcy has the strange thought that the Widow would be amazing at phone sex—you know if the career of Super Spy doesn’t pan out, she’d make bank.

“Entry acquired.”

Making a come hither motion with his right hand—she tries really hard to detach the image from the inappropriate thoughts she’d just been having, because Barnes just looks like a bad idea. A bad idea in the best way, the kind of man who women tell fond stories about when too many margaritas are involved. He’s got the broody, tortured hero thing with those too blue eyes and those thighs.

And they’d put the fucker in a tux.

(Yeah, beyond unfair.)

* * *

 

So she’s only been paying attention in the looses sense of the word, it wasn’t for lack of trying though it’s just this is her first time in the briefing room and it’s beyond cool and Hill was giving her the Tony Look—shit, no way she was finding the Maria today. Pointing at a map now, pictures of several men filled the screen adjacent to the map, Hill crosses her arms and cocks her head to signal her to pay attention without ever stopping the presentation.

“Dr. Foster’s research must be recovered or else we’ll risk intergalatic diplomatic issues and I don’t need to fill out any more paper work.”

The have forms for that? Wait, she’s ex-S.H.I.E.L.D they probably had forms for that.

“Which is were you come in, Lewis—you’re an unknown, which should make it easy to gain entry with the right strings pulled, an skilled hacker and familiar enough with Foster’s research to be able to recognize it even if it’s spread out in multiple drives.” (somehow Hill made the fact that she was a nobody, who tended to illegally gain entrance to things and typed up notes sometimes sound amazing, she’d need to have her proof read her resume sometime)

“So what, I use my super-secret-spy skills unknown even to me—get in, get out and do the tango somewhere in between? Whose idea was this anyway?”

“Agent Romanov seemed to think you were the right person for the job. As for a point of entry, Barnes would be your point man.”

“Oh—”

* * *

 

Pulling the flash drive from her cleavage, noting the way Barnes looks away in a hurry when her hand comes up to the sweetheart neckline of her dress with a quick little backward glance at the end, she plugs into the the available port and lets the program do it’s job. Doesn’t take long before J.A.R.V.I.S has cracked the entire system wide open—the wonders he could do for the virtual world—and then she’s looking through relevant files as quick as she can.

They’ve broken up Jane’s findings and theories into three parts—but from the looks of it they were heading in a strange direction, she’d never seen Jane group her findings that way. Copying the files into the drive to show Jane later she works on deleting any trace of the documents and her presence. Video logs of tonight would be set on a timer to delete in twenty, per Natasha’s instructions.

Tucking the drive away back with the girls, she gives Barnes the all clear sign.

'Extraction in fifteen, get a move on guys.’

Back out to the balcony they go, she has an easier time climbing now that Barnes is there to lend her a hand (Darcy is confident he won’t let her plunge to her death) and they make it back quickly to the room she’d snuck off to—it’s looks like a guest bedroom, it’s in the private section of the mansion they’d infiltrated and it had too much of a hotel look if you asked her. 

Everything too perfect, what wasn’t perfect was the fact that she couldn’t find her shoes.

'Soldier, you’ve got incoming—get a move on.’

Natasha orders, no doubt she was still logged into the security feeds.Barnes makes to leave the room, hand coming to grasp her arm with a lighter touch then she expected him to have.

“I need to get my shoes.”

A blank expression comes over his face, one of the three in his repertoire  and here comes number one—mildly annoyed, 

“You took of your shoes.”

“Duh, how else was I supposed to do get here?”

“In them.”

“Fuck you, Barnes—I almost died twice without doing that on stilts.” she hisses out in lieu of yelling.

'Guys, two minutes.’

“Shit.”

Backing her up against the wall, stooping closer to her face—close enough she could count those thick lashes of his if they were so distracting—those icy blue eyes are watching her mouth, fingers doing something to her hair and she’s reminded for the second time this week how long it’s been since she’s been laid good and proper (and it’s longer then six months cause Ian was okay, but lacked uhmmm girth).

Done with whatever he was doing to her hair he shrugs off his jacket, tossing it toward the bed then in a move she’d only seen in movies before he scoops her up—her legs instinctively wrap around his trim waist—the door know clicks open as the knob turns and Darcy could swear she hears Barnes apologize before his lips are on her neck.Only it’s more then just lips, it’s his hand on her ass bringing her center closer to his body, it’s the teeth he scrapes against the underside of her jaw. Not one to waste opportunity she weaves her fingers through his hair and brings his mouth to her own in a searing kiss, that he tastes like toothpaste (minty and cool) is all she can register before a throat clearing ends their moment.

“Oh God, not again.” like a wilting flower she tucks her head against his shoulder in a mock show of embarrassment, he lets her down on her own two feet before turning toward the guard—his mouth is stained with her lipstick when he speaks.

“Sorry man, she had too much to drink—brought her to take a breath but you know….we’re _newly weds_. Saw a bed, couldn’t resist.”

All things considered the guard lets them off easy, clearly not the first time he’s seen this.In the van Natasha doesn’t comment on the way her hair is a mess and one corner of Barnes’ mouth is still stain with her lipstick as they drive off, it’ll be hours before they are back in New York. Settling back into her seat she tries to catch some shut eye (read: avoid looking at Barnes and his stupidly soft lips) eventually she must have managed it cause she wakes up to the sunrising and Barnes jacket covering her up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sassy Darcy is my second favorite Darcy--Yenta Darcy takes the cake for me.


	3. Fanatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can you pass the naan?” 
> 
> No reply. 
> 
> “Can you pass the naan, please?” 
> 
> She catches Natasha’s attention because the Widow throws up a brow in question over the rim of her glass, Darcy ignores it in favor of trying nicely, just one more time before the kid gloves came off and she told Steve’s special snowflake about polite society and not keeping a lady from her naan. 
> 
> “Barnes, can you pass the naan—or do I have to climb in your lap to get it?”

> iii. Fanatic
> 
> Prompt Status: **Accepting**
> 
> bushy-barnes asked:Hi!:) Wintershock - dealing with fangirls? Darcy helping Bucky escape a mob of screaming fans, answer fanmail etc…? Or Bucky does that for Darcy because she’s started getting her own little faction of crazy people? :D

Tony almost never looked at the thousands of letters that poured in everyday for him (again, this is the man who wont a shower for days of in the middle of a science bender) and that might be for the best—it’s Pepper is responsible for the replies, J.A.R.V.I.S scans most of the letters to a digital form so it’s not too bad. 

Steve is the exact opposite, replies every letter hand written working diligently on the piles of letters that have been sorted out for him—fan mail only, the hate mail gets tossed before it even reaches the third floor of the Tower—some children get little doodles at the margins of their letters. 

Banner has his mail sent back almost exclusively unread, even the letter’s of little ones admiring the Hulk, Darcy has always wanted to ask why but she’s not particularly close to him—mostly because he wont really let her in yet (emphasis on yet, she stubborn). Natasha memorably sat in Darcy’s office once reading an Ode (written in iambic fucking pentameter) about the Assassin’s ass—it’d been hilarious hearing things like ‘supple lines, hair like cherry wine’ comes out of her mouth. 

Clint replies sporadically, he’ll scoop up an arm full of envelopes as he walks by every couple of days and god only knew what he replied. 

Thor, being an actual extra terrestrial didn’t actually write english—he wrote in runes, which were beautiful but Darcy couldn’t even start to guess at what they said—but that didn’t stop him from dictating the occasional letter to some young fan to J.A.R.V.I.S. 

 With the addition of the Winter Soldier and Falcon to the Avengers line up after Washington Darcy had another pair of Super Heroes to stress about. Working as the PR representative of the Avengers was meant to be a temporary gig while Hill was under fire for the collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D but once the Commander had returned she’d not taken the reins back, approving of Darcy’s work it would seem and falling back into being the mission handler (on the more tame ones, Darcy was allowed to observe). 

So she ran the official media pages for them—collaborated interviews and press conferences—and had to wrangle them into the occasional photo shoot. Sam Wilson took the Thor approach of sometimes replying back to children—which was fine by her, less letters to approve. Barnes though, Barnes in the four months he had been living in the Tower had not had a single piece of mail make it past the third floor. 

In the last week Barnes had started to take the midday meals with the Team, it was required by Rogers if you were in the building and otherwise unoccupied then you’d join them in the mass (he called it that sometimes, forgetting or remembering she’s not sure) for Lunch. Nothing brings people together like food was his theory or something, apparently she feel under 'Team’ category, surprising (but, fuck yeah). 

* * *

Darcy had walks in a little late on Thursday and sees Barnes sitting straight back and at attention as always between Steve, who is in an animated conversation with Wilson and an empty seat—the universe practically hits her over the head with the metaphor, Barnes had no one but Steve in his corner and she’d been ignoring his integration to the media, well because it was a nightmare waiting to happen but she’d been cheating him of knowing there might be people out there who didn’t hate him. 

 Thanks, Universe (bastard, she had enough paper work). 

So despite the empty seat Jane had no doubt been saving for her, she sits beside Barnes who subtly shifts away from her as soon as her ass hits the chair, Darcy tries real hard not to be insulted, to keep her tongue in check. Taking up a plate she’s piling on food (it was indian today, not her favorite but the ex-college student in her would never allow her to refuse free food) but can’t reach the naan without invading his personal space. 

“Can you pass the naan?” 

No reply. 

“Can you pass the naan, please?” 

She catches Natasha’s attention because the Widow throws up a brow in question over the rim of her glass, Darcy ignores it in favor of trying nicely, just one more time before the kid gloves came off and she told Steve’s special snowflake about polite society and not keeping a lady from her naan. 

“Barnes, can you pass the naan—or do I have to climb in your lap to get it?” 

Casting a look from the corner of his eyes Barnes reaches out for the basket with his right hand—it would have been easier, more natural, to do it with the left but that’s the side he’s facing—and deposits it soundlessly in front of her. 

Steve was watching them with a curious expression, his conversation with Wilson trickling off until he saw nothing was going to happen and rejoined. 

“Thank you.” 

 Digging in with gusto, spices melting thickly on her tongue, she alternates between different conversations—Natasha and Clint are recounting a mission gone wrong to Thor with Hill pipping in occasionally to tone down the exaggerations; Bruce, Tony and Jane are off in science land she immediately tunes out of that before she gets PTSD flashbacks. Which leaves Steve and Sam who are talking about the which events of the 21st century Steve needed to catch up on first, which leaves her and Barnes. 

Normally she’s the kind of person who can really talk to anyone, aggressively friendly her mother used to say, but Barnes needed to be approached carefully—she needed a _plan_. 

* * *

The Universe (fickle Mistress that it was) gave her a solution to her problem two weeks later in which the most progress she made was not being stabbed by a fork when she sat down next to Barnes—which was good progress, don’t get her wrong. A letter for Barnes had made it past the third floor, it was fan mail so she was well within her rights to open it but somehow it didn’t feel right. 

Instead as a precaution she asks J.A.R.V.I.S to look up the sender—Carter Mills of Ohio, age nine—satisfied she tucks the letter into her pocket to deliver it at lunch. Late to lunch again—she seemed to be perpetually late now a days, maybe it was time to accept the offer for an assistant Pepper keeps mentioning—Darcy walks in the room accepting and giving greetings. 

It’s Indian **again** (Bruce must be feeling the travel itch, today was his day to order on the schedule) her now customary seat next to Barnes is waiting. She counts it as a small victory when he doesn’t flinch away from her when she sits and breaks full blown smile when without prompting he’s passing her the naan. 

 “Thanks. Oh, that reminds me—here.” out of her pocket comes the letter, holding it out to him she waits—everything with Barnes required waiting, patience—but he does reach for it, careful not to brush against her hand in anyway. 

“What is it?” 

“Fan mail.” 

“Wow, Buck—you got a letter, nice.” 

He’s drawn away by Steve’s question and allows Sam to pull him into a discussion about baseball—one of the few things she’s ever seen Barnes get passionate about, his face becomes less severe and a hint of Brooklyn creeps back into his voice. Filing the information away for later she just watches her Team be together—safe. 

* * *

A knock on her door distracts her for a moment, she holds up a finger asking whoever it was to wait and her fingers continue to fly over the keyboard. Closing off the document with her usual salutation she sends it off to for Hill’s approval. 

 “Sorry, need to finish that thou—Barnes?” 

Standing awkwardly at her door Barnes is dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a long sleeved, soft looking sweater—both in dark colors— a pony tail gathered at the base of his neck, having pulled back the hair from his face has left the sharp cut of his jaw out for the world to see. She’d know, somewhere in her mind that Barnes was handsome, but confronted with proof of it is different, startling. 

“Ma'am.” he ducks his head down in greeting, hands behind his back at attention. 

 Rising from her chair she points to the chairs in front of her desk, “Come in, please. Take a seat.” 

“Thank you.” 

“So what can I do for you, Barnes?” 

His gloved hands are fiddling with a familiar envelope, he still doesn’t meet her eyes—he had issues with eye contact, probably from H.Y.D.R.A—it’s more that he’s looking just over her shoulder. 

“This boy—Carter, lost his arm in an accident. His mother wrote the letter, says the Winter Soldier is his _**hero**_.” 

Darcy remains quiet, sensing he’s not done. 

“He’s got a prosthetic arm—the mother says he would love a reply.” 

“And you need help writing one?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, you came to the right place Barnes, I happen to have a way with words.” 

His lips quirk up for an instant, “I know, Ma'am”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the feedback! Don't forget to check out my other works if you like this.


	4. The Love and Care of Imperfect Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tucking his hair behind an ear she uses the pads of her fingers to explore the contours of his face, sharp cheek bones and a hint of stubble long his jaw gave him a dangerous look but the fluttering lashes and full lips gave a hint of softness. A study in contrast she could dedicate a life time into learning. Nails scratch against his scalp and he opens those too blue eyes of his at half mast, lips pulling into a lazy, content smile.
> 
> (If she'd been wearing panties they would be on the floor, but she's home so—commando)
> 
> (Ha! Commando.)
> 
> (God, that pun was bad even in her head.)
> 
> “I think that I am in love with you—”

Prompt Status: **Accepting**

 kaarencastleasked:Idk if you are still taking prompts, love, but I would love to see one of Wintershock where Bucky asks Darcy why she loves him. And she tells him every single little thing and perhaps something where she links her fingers with his metal ones while she’s telling him. Thank you!

She's covered by the too bright yellow (it had look less canary in the lighting if the store) of her first crocheting project, it had uneven lumpy stitches and a side that was longer then the other. Darcy had a strange love for it despite having made better pieces since then, despite the unfortunate coloring it was a soft wool—sturdy but comfortable.

The ancient radiator of her apartment is doing its usual noisy job of rattling out a meager amount of heat but she doesn't mind, growing up with a single mother the norm was putting in another layer then going up another degree. Tony had been making bigger and bigger offers to get her to move into the Tower but she liked her own space, liked having a little normalcy outside of her rather peculiar work life.

(Didn't mean she wasn't tempted, free rent yo.)

Plus it would meant more time to sleep instead of having to drag her ass back home (not that she didn't occasionally use an empty room to crash when the days had started to blur together). Only the Tower with its sleek lines and modern design weren't really her style. The exposed brick of her walls, the creak of the wooden floor in front of her fridge and especially the fire escape directly she would use to stargaze with Jane when she could be dragged away from Science.

Legs left uncovered and propped over a pillow, one hand is used to hold her book (the cheap, bosom heaving type) the other is are tangled in a mass of brown hair. Bucky has his head resting on her lap, his long legs half hanging off her bed, his body providing more heat then her radiator. With his face buried in her stomach and eyes closed he could have been asleep but she knows better.

He doesn't trust himself asleep around her.

Tucking his hair behind an ear she uses the pads of her fingers to explore the contours of his face, sharp cheek bones and a hint of stubble long his jaw gave him a dangerous look but the fluttering lashes and full lips gave a hint of softness. A study in contrast she could dedicate a life time into learning. Nails scratch against his scalp and he opens those too blue eyes of his at half mast, lips pulling into a lazy, content smile.

(If she'd been wearing panties they would be on the floor, but she's home so—commando)

(Ha! _Commando_.)

(God, that pun was bad even in her head.)

“I think that I am in love with you—”

His eyes widen, fingers digging into her hips with a bruising force as his surprise and she can't hold back a wince. Reading her expression Bucky releases his hold and crawls off of her, sitting at the edge of her bed with his back to her.

Darcy takes the fact he hasn't run away as a good sign.

Crawling her way to him she drapes herself across his back, the edges of her yellow blanket enveloping them. Cheek resting against his shoulder, the metal unyielding, her fingers strokes down his bionic arm until they entwined with his. Her right arm is curled around his middle so she can press herself fully against the hard lines of his body.

His fingers twitch but it's the only sign he is even here, otherwise Bucky remains silent and nearly immobile, she can feel his heartbeats pounding against her chest in a steady rhythm. Gathering her courage she slides off the bed on stocking feet, they are Captain America socks and she hopes wearing the man's shield will give her a bit of his unstoppable momentum. Even if they were a silly Yankee swap gift.

“But I'm gonna tell you why.”

The heat of his skin seeps into her cool palms when she cups his face, knees nudging his part so she can stand between them—Darcy tilts his face up so that she can maintain eye contact, thought it would probably be easier to not do that she didn't want there to be any mixed signals as to her feeling.

The depth or certainty of them.

“I love that you steal the tomatoes off of my plates because you know I hate them, but know I love my fries smothered in ketchup.” after she starts the words seem to tumble out with no end in sightm “ I love that you don't let me walk on the shoulder of the road even if it is a little old school. I love the way your lips feel against mine or against my forehead when you kiss me good night. I love that you pretend not to know I'm awake when you carry me from the couch.”

Thumb stroking the rough stubble on his face she leans forward so their foreheads are touching, breath mingling. The tip of her nose swipes against his in a teasing way, the clench of his jaw is starting to relax. “I love that you try—God you try so hard Bucky. To fit in, to be gentle, you try to make me happy and to keep me safe.”

“I love—” swallowing against the rising emotion, voice cracking as moisture beings to blur her vision, “I just, I love you. I love you knowingly and recklessly. I love you in spirit, heart and body—especially in body, _often and regularly_ is preferable.”

This manages to get a curling of the corner of his mouth, his eyes have gone all soft (a pale shade of blue) giving into the urge she melds their mouths together in a kiss. He responds to the kiss, allows hesitant fingers to come back to her waist, pulling her closer against him. Reluctantly she breaks their kiss, tugging at his lower lip with her teeth is a consolation prize.

Words now, kissing later.

“You don't have to say it back, I just—I wanted you to know. That's all, no strings attached, no expectations.”

Bionic fingers play with the ends of her hair and then trails over to her shoulder, rising to skim the delicate skin of her throat before they settle over her chest above where her heart.

“And if I want strings?”

“Then we can negotiate a safe word Soldier.”

Her wink sends him into a full bellied laugh and she knows they'll be okay. Just in case she sends a silent thank you to Steve for lending her a bit of his tenacity to add to her own.

 

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the fluff flows strong!


	5. War! What Is It Good For?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next time he sees Darcy her skin and hair is a fading purple and she had vengeance in her eyes.
> 
> He only laughs a little, her aim with a throw pillow is rather good.
> 
> Two day later Barton’s mouth is still superglued.

> Prompt Status: Accepting
> 
> blue-beasts-girlasked:Wintershock: Darcy likes to be tickled (by the right guy), and Bucky… Well, he’ll do anything that let’s him touch her.

A shrill scream rounds the corner before she does, skidding over the smooth stone floors on neon green socks she manages to catch herself against the wall before sprinting full speed away from the incoming footsteps and straight in his direction. 

Darcy ducks around him, shifting so that his broader frame is covering as much of her as possible he bends his knees slightly falling into a battle stance—flesh arm reaching out to touch tug her further behind him. Pressed flush against his back he can feel the gulping breaths she is taking, fingers curling into the material of his shirt.

(hallway, optimal for hand to hand—hindered by civilian.)   
(Incapacitate, then Dispose.)

  
Barton narrowly misses having a throwing knife embedded in his skull, he only has a split second to change the trajectory of the blade and even then only by a few millimeters. Arms raised in surrender the archer steals a quick sideways glance at the knife buried deep into the wall beside his head. 

“Holy shit, Barnes!”

Darcy lets out a low whistle peeking out from underneath his still raised arm, a half smile is playing on her lips—blue eyes focused on the Clint. 

“That’s what you get for coming at me Merida.”

“You started it, Lewis.”

“Tickling is an unfair use of your friendship knowledge and you know it.”

Now confusion was a natural state of being for him with the changes of seven decades to catch up on but he was fairly certain this wasn’t normal. 

“Tickling?” he questions the young woman still partially hiding behind his bulk.

“Clint is a rotten loser at Mario Kart so he decided to get handsy.”

Barton lowers his arms and points an accusatory finger, “You cheated, I saw you.” 

“You saw nothing you can prove.” she replies with a toss of her dark curls, turning her gaze up to him she puts a hand on his bicep and squeezes “Thanks for the assist, Sarge.”

Dark brows furrowing he follows her swaying hips until she’s out of sight, Barton has taken up the spot beside him and is holding out his knife (the one he is not technically supposed to have) back to him handle first. Shaking his head to clear away the less then gentlemanly thoughts he accepts the knife and tucks it back into ones of the compartments of his bionic arm. They part without sharing words but somehow a simple brow raise from Hawkeye was enough to let him know.

He was out of his depth.

* * *

“Barnes!” 

Is the all the warning he gets before she’s leapt over the rail, landing a little wobbly, and is making a mad dash to his side. A small hand is curling around the fingers of his metal hand and then he is running too. Behind him he can hear the indignant sounds of Barton growing closer, for anyone else it would sound like angry muffled words but the bastardized serum he had running in his veins still enhanced all his sense enough he so that he could clearly make out the “Lewis!” begin shouted down the halls.

Entering the kitchen in a half sprint Darcy pulls him along further to the back, a small door slides open and she’s shoving him inside before walking in herself and closing the door. Tucking a bit of dark hair behind her ear she leans towards the door as if to listen for footsteps.

“Lewis, what i—”

“Shhhhhh” waiving a hand behind her Darcy continues to give the door her full attention.

“He’s headed away from the kitchen entrance—towards the common area.” 

“How do you know?”

Despite he dim he can see the look of disbelief on her face. Shaking his head, leaning back against a sturdy looking spice cabinet he crosses his arms and levels her with a look.

“Real question is, what did you do?” 

A wide smile forms on her lips, its full of teeth and mischief, “Glitter bomb in the vents.” 

* * *

  
Next time he sees Darcy her skin and hair is a fading purple and she had vengeance in her eyes.

He only laughs a little, her aim with a throw pillow is rather good.

Two day later Barton’s mouth is still superglued. 

* * *

Sparring with Steve is nearly cathartic, it dampens the edge for violence his body seems to crave. The familiar movements of a take down, the dull ache of a barely deflected body shot, all of it centers him. Normally they have the gym to themselves at this hour—at times Banner will come in with a subdued ‘hello’ before heading to the mirrored studio he uses for yoga—but on Saturday morning the doors burst open. 

“Bucky!”

Her eyes light up when she spots him, an uncomfortable flutter in his belly is ignored in favor of bracing himself for her incoming presence. Darcy Lewis, he’d come to find, was a force of nature who would sweep him away if he wasn’t careful. Much like that first time she ducks behind him and shots a sloppy salute Steve’s way. 

Steve to his credit only raises a brow at the two of them when Barton comes bounding into the room like a bat out of hell.

“You, you! You can’t hide behind Barnes forever Lewis. I will get you.”Anger dripped over every word but all Bucky could see was the giant caricature of a phallus drawn at the edge of his mouth spanning the length of his face up to the forehead. 

Not addressing either himself or Steve the archer just storms out of the room. 

“Guess I’m just gonna have to stick close to you, Sarge.”

Well, fuck.  


There goes the fluttering again.  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave prompts here in the comments or on my tumblr coffeeandconjunctions. I write for WinterShock, HulkWidow, CaptainHill and Forsterson


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